


Our Cut Up Hearts

by phenomenaaa



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ma'am, Post-Season/Series 02, canon compliant with everything we've seen in the series so far, i don't know how to tag this i'm sorry, kastle - Freeform, rated M for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenomenaaa/pseuds/phenomenaaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ma’am.”  <br/>The deep, worn out voice of Frank Castle hit her like an unexpected gust of wind, sucking the air from her lungs. She turned, focusing her eyes in the darkness, finally able to make out his silhouette leaning against her windowsill.  <br/>“Frank, what the fuck?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Cut Up Hearts

The scorching July sun dipped lower in the distance, grueling on the horizon. Most of the light had vanished behind the sturdy buildings of Hell’s Kitchen, but some small embers, burning orange and pink, flickered lazily against the low corners of concrete.  
“Karen, it’s Friday,” Ellison said, his finger tapping the light switch of her office. “Get the hell out of here, I mean it.”  
His voice was stern but he was wearing a half smile, his mouth stretched thin and long, the corners turned sharply upward. “And I better not hear about you sneaking in here on Monday! It’s a holiday, you don’t have to be here - give yourself a damn break and watch some fireworks or something. Maybe spend some of that energy trying to convince me you’re a normal person instead of convincing Hell’s Kitchen that The Punisher is dead.”  
“I can always work from home,” she countered, smirking. “I don’t like fireworks anyway.”  
Ellison rolled his eyes. “Sleep for three days straight then, what do I care? Weekends are for resting and you definitely need it, Page.”   
She tucked her hair behind her ear and exhaled a sound that was meant to be a laugh. “You’re probably right.”  
“I’m definitely right. If you wear yourself too thin, you’ll start getting sloppy. You’re of no use to me then.”   
Karen nodded. “I’ll be out of here soon.”   
He raised a hand in concession and turned back in the direction of his own too-lived-in office. “Enjoy your weekend, Page.”

Throwing herself into her new job with an intensity she could only credit to the sad reality of losing the two friends she had in Hell’s Kitchen and therefore being vacant of a social life allowed her to move from fact-checker and occasional writer to a newly appointed full-time position under Mitchell Ellison’s watchful eye. Although she was enormously proud of her work and enjoyed every part of it, she could no longer deny the havoc that the stress of such a job had been putting on her mind and body. She was tired. She missed having conversations with people who were not other journalists, her boss, or her contacts on the streets. Ellison, in his monthly show of pseudo-paternal affection, was right. 

Karen returned to her article for another ten minutes, her fingers darting around the keyboard and her eyes flitting around the monitor, reading and re-reading as she typed. Eventually satisfied enough, she saved the document three more times, backed it up to her flash drive, shut off the lights, and left the building before 10 PM for the first time in over a year and a half. Once in the elevator, she pulled her phone from her pocket and opened a group text with Matt and Foggy that none of them had contributed to in three months.  
_What are you two clowns up to this weekend?  
_ She stared at the words for a moment. In another lifetime, when their friendship felt invincible, teasing and feigning disinterest would have felt right between the three of them. This was no longer the case. They were all preoccupied with their private lives and the weight of lies and betrayal had become too much for their friendship to bear. It was too hard to try, so they all stopped.   
_I miss you two. Drinks at Josie’s this weekend?  
_ She inhaled sharply and held the breath in her lungs, her finger hovering over “send” on the screen. She didn’t have time to pretend like she didn’t miss them, that her life hadn’t been shit without them around. __  


Karen ascended the subway steps, immediately setting a fast and ruthless pace down the block as soon as she emerged. Both of her hands were stuffed into her pockets, the right with her set of keys laced between her fingers, just like her mom had taught her, and the left clutching her cell phone. There had been no response yet from Matt or Foggy. She tried not to think about it.

There was something unsettling about dusk, that ghostly in-between time. Once the inky blue darkness of nighttime had settled, there was no choice but to dive into it, to exist within it. But dusk was a slow and creeping covering of all things bright and shining. When dusk was starting to settle over the city, a change of mood came with it. People were suddenly more on edge, less carefree. On a typical night she’d arrive home long after the sun had set, probably nearer the time a healthy version of her would have been settling into bed and going to sleep. The darkness was there and she dealt with it.

Her apartment, still strange and new to her despite having lived in it long enough to have renewed her lease once already, was only three blocks from her train, but the close proximity did little to ease her tension. She was ready for home - ready to twist the cap off of a cheap bottle of bourbon and pretend she wasn’t going to be glancing at her phone every two minutes, waiting for two messages that might never come. She was ready pretend that she would spend the evening watching mindless TV until she fell asleep, though in reality she had already acknowledged the inevitability of staying up until the first hours of the morning going over research and outlines for her next article. Her mind jutted outward into one million different places at any given time, each of them buzzing for her devoted attention. Work was often the only thing that could capture it completely.

She rounded the corner and glanced at the rooftops, a strange but not uncommon feeling of warmth and safety dusting over her skin. The Devil’s burning red eyes were not staring down at her. The hulking but poised silhouette of a man now allegedly dead was not juxtaposed amongst the rest of the shadows. But they were here somewhere. She was comforted by the impossible safety of it.  
_Note to self_ , she thought, climbing the stairs of her building, _Matt may not respond to texts quickly if he’s already donned his red pajamas for the night_.   
She smiled, turning her key in the last of the three locks she’d installed on her door. She’d held onto her anger for long enough. She was happy to finally let it go.

Her happiness faded the moment she stepped into her studio. Something was wrong. Her heart beat steadily in her chest, the sound vibrating in her ears. Fresh-brewed coffee wafted towards her as she stepped over the threshold. The pot she’d made before she left at six o’clock this morning should not still be lingering in the air.   
  
“Ma’am.”  
  
The deep, worn out voice of Frank Castle hit her like an unexpected gust of wind, sucking the air from her lungs. She turned, focusing her eyes in the darkness, finally able to make out his silhouette leaning against her windowsill.   
“Frank, what the _fuck_?” 

He stood and stepped into the light given off by the fixture above her sink. She wasn't sure if she’d forgotten to turn it off that morning or if Frank had purposefully left it on for her so she wasn’t stepping into complete darkness whenever she ended up coming home. He set an empty coffee mug on the counter, his eyes refusing to meet her gaze.  
“Did you just come here to steal my coffee or what?” Karen asked, folding her arms over her chest. A multitude of other questions danced on the tip of her tongue - _How do you know where I live? Where have you been?_ Are you alright? Reluctantly, and with some force, she swallowed them back down.  
He was not as bruised and bloodied as the image that always entered her mind when she thought about him. For someone who had spent the last year and a half inflicting the kind of damage on the villainy of Hell’s Kitchen she was sure he’d been responsible for, he looked good. He was taking care of himself.   
He furrowed his brow at her question, guilt washing over his face. “There’s, uh, there’s some cash in your silverware drawer for a new bag. Sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”  
Karen blinked, unsettled by the consideration she’d forgotten he was capable of. “Frank, I was kidding. Kind of.” She dipped her head down, trying to find his eyes. “Why are you here, Frank?”  
His eyes were still fixed on the countertop. He still wouldn’t look at her. “I need your help.”

**Author's Note:**

> This took me an embarrassingly long time to write because I haven't written long-form prose in YEARS, so please be gentle with me but also please leave your thoughts and (constructive) criticisms in the comments!!!  
> I have a vague idea of where this is going, but I'm hoping now that I finally have the first chapter finished and posted it'll make getting the subsequent ones out to y'all a little easier.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @phenomenaaa!


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